Jessica McFarland

I have escaped London for Somerset (see figure 1). As I write this, I can feel the stress of living in the capital letting go and drifting away through the open window. Good riddance.

So today I’m going to write about something nice. I feel I need it. For the past several days, every time I look at the news it seems there is some new and previously unimaginable horror in the world. I continue to be, well, frankly impressed at how awful we can make life for ourselves and for each other.

So I’m taking a stand against it. The revolution starts here:

Right now, it is late May, and therefore, early summer. Contrary to all my previous experience of this country, it is pleasantly warm today. There are quite a few clouds, sure, but the air is still bright. There is a gentle breeze blowing. The trees are in full leaf, and they are swaying gently to it, as if it is a song they love but haven’t heard for a very long time. (more…)

Now, I’m not throwing that out there as a blanket statement. I love words. Of course I do; that’s why I write so many of them. In fact, I would never have been able to come up with a sentiment like that on my own, so I stole it from Depeche Mode.

But it’s late, very late at night, after a long, long day. And just now I went into a room, alone, and I heard it. The silence. And it was sooooo nice.

The reason I needed it so badly was because of things that are all lovely on their own: music, people, even a bit of television. It’s been great but…to layer these things on top of each other, with no break between them…I didn’t realise how tiring it was until it all stopped just now. And then it was like, aaaaah. I’ve missed you, and I didn’t even know.

I need to be able to listen to my thoughts. I need a bit of space. Or I go a bit…not right.

But what does this have to do with dolphins? Well, I’ll tell you. Noise pollution. From ships and sonar and the like. It’s bad for them. It confuses them, and they end up on the 10 o’clock news.

It probably makes it difficult for them to write, as well. In fact, were it not for oceanic noise pollution, perhaps dolphins would be writing plays and stories and symphonies, and building venues in which to perform them, and changing the world with the beauty of their oceanic perspective. Humans would travel underwater to cetacean universities to learn their advanced art forms. It would be the foundation of a new, trans-taxonomic-order Renaissance.

But now, every time the first few strands of melody or the opening lines of a poem begin to assemble themselves, they are interrupted by a shipping container full of ipods, never to to be found again.

Dolphins, I feel for you.